Depth Perception
by theSilverChef
Summary: Marcus Woll divulged that Mike has a crush on Connie, but we never found out what she thought about the situation... until now! **Connie POV**


_Poor Mike Cutter. He never knew you were available. _ Marcus Woll had implanted that disastrous seed into my mind, knowing very well that it would tear this office apart. How could a few words alter a relationship? Well, the relationship needed to be faulty to begin with. Mike and I got along fine, for the most part. While some of his actions were questionable, his motives never were—he sought justice. He gave me some invaluable guidance, along with plenty of ammo to continue to lose faith in the male species. He had even let me see his human side once or twice. When you work with one EADA more than others, you can't help but establish a routine. I could even call it a rapport or a friendship. Okay, I'll say it. Mike was my favorite. But in any friendship, there are good days and bad days, and with Mike, I never knew which one to expect. He could be ruthless, and as much as he purported to respect and admire me, how could I be sure I wouldn't end up as a casualty of his incessant war? And then, Marcus happened. I attempted to forget his observation, but it was like a virus. It only heightened the suspicions I already harbored.

I caught Mike watching me on several occasions. When I would call him on it, he'd attribute his stares to just that—staring off into space. I never realized how much physical contact we had until it became a phobia. At least ten times a day, his hand, arm, or leg would brush mine. I could no longer definitively classify these occurrences as innocent or accidental. I was plagued with the fear that Mike, in some twisted way, had taken what happened between Marcus and I with a grain of encouragement. Marcus was a mistake—the biggest mistake of my life—and I was not going to be a repeat offender. Mike was a good-looking guy, but lust will cost you your job in my line of work. The criticism Jack faced for an affair that happened over ten years ago was the only deterrent I needed. I knew that "Connie and Mike" was a path I could not indulge. So, I removed myself from the temptation. I stopped sitting on the couch in his office. I stopped letting him buy me coffee in the mornings. I wouldn't even let my extra jacket hang alongside his anymore. Only once did I accept his invitation for drinks after work—the poor sap was sure that he was about to be fired from the only career he knew or loved. Other than that, I kept things strictly professional.

Then, something happened. We were at Reade's one afternoon for Anita's off-the-cuff-fundraiser-turned-engagement-party. Taking advantage of the TGIF vibe, almost everyone drank in excess. I had never tried gin before, but I felt obligated to make use of the shot Cyrus bought for me. After two glasses of wine, the liquor hit me immediately, and I didn't say no when Mike asked me to dance with him. I couldn't keep a straight face between his sloppy footwork and the shopping-mall-tenor of Christopher Cross' "Sailing." I could feel the accusatory eyes on us, but we were in our own little world, and it really wasn't that scary. I let myself enjoy his company, because I knew that on Monday, things would be back to normal. When it came time to leave, he was too drunk to even walk, let alone hail a taxi. Being the designated "DD" for a few others, Kevin offered to give us a ride. After a humorous exchange about whether Mike lived on 71st and Broadway (to which Kevin said "Hell no, you can walk your ass home") or 71 Broadway, I determined it was the latter by checking his ID.

The desk manager watched in bemusement as we helped Mike to the elevator and up to his apartment. Alcohol begets audacity, and I was not surprised when he offered me his couch. It was tempting, but I declined. Even if Detective Bernard had not been there, it still would have been inappropriate. Besides, as it turned out, Mike had an English bulldog, and she seemed disinclined to share the sofa. Monday came, and as I predicted, nothing was out of the ordinary. I dealt with arraignments in the morning, and Mike sent me on several investigational research errands in the afternoon. When I peaked into his office to say goodnight, he thwarted me with an apology for his behavior on Friday.

* * *

><p><em>"Listen, Connie, I don't want to make a big thing of this, but I'm sorry if I was out-of-line Friday. If I made you feel uncomfortable, I apologize."<em>

_"Oh—no worries. You're allowed to have a little fun, sometimes. See you in the morning, Mike."_

* * *

><p>On Tuesday, Jack asked me to lunch, and as we waited in line at the food cart, he delivered a surprising revelation. I was the latest victim of the rumor mill. I protested any misconduct between Mike and I, but Jack warned me that if others had picked up on the sexual tension, it would be wise to conclude that Mike felt the brunt of it. There was my affirmation; Mike was smitten. Jack told me to be careful and to remember that in spite of his callousness in the courtroom, Mike was still a solitary man with desires and insecurities. Was I supposed to rescue him from premature aging and loneliness? I noted that it seemed almost as if he was endorsing an affair. It was infuriating that Jack assumed I reciprocated the attraction. Men and women have successfully worked together before without sex getting involved. Did no one believe that I had learned my lesson? I took it as defamation of character for Jack to even imply that I wanted anything beyond platonic with Mike. And with such a skewed notion, who knew what ideas Jack was giving him? I deeply regret my next course of action. I set out to prove I was in control, but instead, I gave credence to Jack's theory.<p>

It started with a serendipitous touch. We were listening to the defense's examination of our reluctant witness, and I was taking notes. I uncrossed my legs beneath the table, and the toe of my pumps brushed Mike's pants. I apologized mechanically, before noticing that his body had tensed up. Through my peripheral vision, I could see him shifting in his chair, shooting me furtive looks. I turned away to keep from smirking, suddenly drunk with the power that I held over him. It should have stopped there. But, after that day, each time I worked with him, I had to fight the urge to exact the same reaction. It was cruel and atypical of me. I knew I had to put an end to it when I no longer cared if the hem of my skirt crept up or if my camisole plunged a little lower than usual. While it was strictly business on the streets, his office had become fair game for my tactics.

One evening, however, my plan backfired. Mike said he was heading out early; that he had dinner reservations. I felt jealous and betrayed. Through my scheming, I'd brainwashed myself into thinking that I was the only female on the planet he wanted. It was a wake up call, and the next day, I wore slacks and a turtleneck out of shame. He commented about my choice of wardrobe on such a sunny day, but I gave him the cold shoulder, as if _he_ had done something to _me_. By the late afternoon, I was sweltering. He told me I could go home, but his kindness in spite of my rotten attitude made me feel guilty. I knew he would be in for a long night if I didn't stay. I offered to pay for dinner—pizza—in an attempt to apologize without having to explain what I was apologizing for. Mixing grease with pertinent paperwork is never a good idea, so we took a few minutes, away from the desk, to eat and chat as friends.

* * *

><p><em>"How was your hot date?"<em>

_"What date?"_

_"You made reservations at Sparks last night…"_

_"Oh… well I'd hardly call dinner with my brother a hot date."_

_"Your brother? You're just full of secrets aren't you? First, I find out you have a dog, and now you're not an only child?"_

_"Why would you assume I was an only child?"_

_"Because you have the social skills of someone who is an only child."_

_"Is that so? And what, pray tell, is the basis for your observation?"_

_"You're a brat."_

_"Really? That's your argument?"_

_"You're pompous…"_

_"Pompous? Wow."_

_"Self-serving…"_

_"I believe that's a synonym for pompous."_

_"You're reckless and undiplomatic."_

_"Ouch! Objection!"_

_"You opened the door, Counselor."_

_"Overruled; I think you're jealous."_

_"I think we should get back to work."_

* * *

><p>Later in the evening, I felt his eyes on me as I pored over a tome of case law citations. He interrupted my concentration with a non sequitur. He was being promoted to Bureau Chief of Sex Crimes, and he wanted me to consider transferring. I told him I was not interested in such a gruesome branch of the law. I thought my answer was sufficient to quash his hopes of something between us or of me changing my mind. I was wrong, however. He decided to take the bus for a change and walked with me down Leonard. As we approached Church, I held my breath in anticipation of an awkward departure.<p>

* * *

><p><em>"What am I going to do without you?"<em>

_"Well, you managed to get by just fine before you met me."_

_"You've saved my ass more times than I can count."_

_"Don't exaggerate."  
><em>

_"It'll be a big change, not seeing you everyday… And I'd like to see you."_

_"Mike-…"_

_"I'm attracted to you, Connie. I think you know that. I've kept it professional, but we're not going to be in the same department anymore…."_

_"I know…"_

_"And I won't be breaking my rule."_

_"Mike...I can't."_

_"Why?" _

_"I promised myself I wouldn't make **that** mistake again."_

_"It won't be a mistake."_

_"You don't know that." _

_"I know that you're in denial. Do you think I haven't noticed your behavior for the past month? Am I misreading you? If I'm way off base here, let me know."_

_"Mike, please! If you care about me—about us—then respect that I can't take any chances."_

* * *

><p>Mike Cutter had two personas—hard-ass prosecutor and lost little puppy. At that moment, the dejection splayed across his face was pitiful. I did the only thing I could think of—I set my briefcase on the sidewalk and wrapped my arms around his neck. He reluctantly returned the embrace. I said goodnight and walked away, ignoring the guilt that twisted my stomach. After that exchange, things became dramatically different. He was now the one that pulled away. He kept me at my own desk, avoided me on breaks, and took the stairs to keep from being confined in the elevator with me. Our conversations were clinical and focused solely on our work. I thought I knew what I wanted, but I missed him. I felt obsessed and out-of-control. As despicable as it was, I had subconsciously enjoyed his attention and pining. Maybe I had even been somewhat attracted to him. I found any and every excuse to be alone with him, attempting to salvage our relationship.<p>

My absurd introspection brought about the beginning of the end. It was a Wednesday, and we were Uptown, conducting an interview. Mr. Ledesma was not exactly inclined to give us anything useful, so the interrogation was cut short. The residential building was antiquated, and the narrow stairwells could make anyone feel claustrophobic. We were on the last flight when I asked Mike if he wanted to grab some lunch. He declined, making an excuse about having a lot of work to do, but I saw through the fiction. I could no longer brush off the feeling of loss. Call it neurosis if you must, but I needed to mend what I had destroyed. I firmly spoke his name and reached for his arm to stop him. I don't know why I kissed him; even an idiot would have known better. His lips did not move with mine, so I pushed harder, silently pleading with him to indulge me. Finally, I felt the release. He pinned me against the cracked drywall, our uncoordinated breaths echoing throughout the landing. The only way I can describe that moment is scandalous, exhilarating, and completely foolish. What was I doing? I had sought a clean conscience, only to commit an immutable sin. Mike pulled away, and I felt exposed. His eyes read doubt and panic. Wordlessly, we continued down to the car and returned to the office. We didn't speak of the incident again.

Three weeks later, I found myself marching toward Jack's office with a vengeance. I didn't bother to knock, and I didn't care if he was busy.

* * *

><p><em>"Ron Carver? Jack, what the hell is going on?"<em>

_"He is Mike's replacement. But I trust you already knew that."_

_"So, it's true then? Were you hoping I wouldn't notice your slight?" _

_"I couldn't consider you because you didn't apply."_

_"Did I need to? That was my spot, Jack. I deserved it more than anyone."_

_"You're not ready, Connie."_

_"Not ready? Since my first day here I have given nothing short of 110%. I've done the last three crosses, and my conviction record is exemplary."_

_"I don't disagree with that, but there's more to the job description than just diligence and determination."_

_"Like what? Having a dick?"_

_"Gender has nothing to do with this…"_

_"I don't know if I can believe that, Jack."_

_"I need your talents elsewhere."_

_"This is about Mike, isn't it? I can't believe you... And I can't believe him! He went behind my back to manipulate the situation in his favor. I didn't go to law school to be a babysitter."_

_"You two work well together; I get consistency and scrupulousness."_

_"And I hit the glass ceiling! Did you really expect me to just settle for 'sidekick'?"_

_"You're going to be his lead prosecutor."_

_"I don't want to be 'his' anything."_

_"This is no trivial gig as a personal assistant. You'll be handling a substantial case-load, and you will be doing much of it alone."_

_"That's supposed to make me feel better?" _

_"Your time will come, Connie."_

_"It already has. Consider this my two weeks. I'll have a formal resignation on your desk by this afternoon."_

_"You're being melodramatic. This isn't personal, kid."_

_"Ha!"_

_"I'm doing what's best for this office. I'm not taking sides."_

_"Then why does it seem like you're allowing Mike to get whatever he wants? You're inflating his ego."_

_"Is what he wants so bad? He thinks very highly of you and so do I."_

_"You don't get to make my decisions for me."_

_"I don't mean to do so. Connie, I'm truly sorry if I have done you harm. I hope that you'll reconsider."  
><em>

_"Do I have a choice?"_

* * *

><p>I didn't get the answers I had wanted from Jack, so I moved down the hall to Mike's office. I slammed the door behind me and turned off his television. He paused briefly before continuing to pack the last of his belongings into a box. His apathy infuriated me further.<p>

* * *

><p><em>"How dare you…"<em>

_"So you've heard the news, then?"_

_"You've managed to reach a new low, Mike."_

_"I did you a favor. Would you rather sit at your desk everyday being reminded that Jack passed you up for Carver?"_

_"I thought I made myself clear."_

_"Clarity isn't your thing. Let's review, shall we? One minute, you're shutting me down, and the next thing I know, you're pouncing me in a Harlem apartment building."_

_"I made a mistake. That doesn't give you the right to determine my future. You can't treat people this way, Mike."_

_"That's right. I'm a robot. I feel nothing. Mike Cutter doesn't care who he hurts as long as he gets the bad guys."_

_"You're putting words in my mouth."_

_"_Don't come in here and play the victim. You've been just as devious._ I laid it all out there for you, Connie. I put my heart on the stand. You don't know what you want, so you're taking me and everyone else down with you."_

_"Is that what this is about? Is this your idea of payback?"_

_"Jesus Christ, I'm talking to a wall. Let's make this simple. For the record, you and I both know that Jack can't make you do anything. **I **can't make you do anything. Like I've always said, it's 'whatever you want.'"_

_"Then, I quit."_

_"That's what you want?"_

_"Yes, it is."_

_"Okay, then, I guess this is goodbye."  
><em>

_"I guess it is."_

* * *

><p>That afternoon, Mike was gone. He moved two floors up to the satellite division. I only worked with Ron fleetingly, and it was mostly research. He was charming and earnest, and I experienced a cursory vein of regret over my decision to leave. My whole life was changing. I was switching jobs, moving across country, and embarking on a path of unpredictability. I am a devout believer that things happen for a reason, though, and I stuck to my choice. I went up to see Mike on my last day, but his secretary, Sandra, said he was in chambers with Judge Esquivel. I wanted to apologize—I had only been angry with him because he was right. My actions were just as dishonest and insensitive as his. I scribbled a succinct note on the back of a business card and asked Sandra to see that he got it. <em>I'm sorry, Mike, for everything – Connie<em>

Surprisingly, my life has neatly fallen back into place. I'm still getting to know Jonah, but I've already found my niche with Hardin. I see my nieces and nephews every weekend, it doesn't snow here, and I have the chance to start over. I still wonder what could have been between Mike and I, and I've often found myself thinking about whether or not he ever got my note. Then, today, I returned from an evidentiary hearing to find a vase of lavender roses on my desk. Attached to the flowers was a tiny card. _Sorry I'm so late & me too – M.C._


End file.
